


He Plays at Hazard

by Celandine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2006-08-11
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-21 12:52:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celandine/pseuds/Celandine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry makes Snape an offer he hopes cannot be refused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Laid Bare

**Author's Note:**

> The first three chapters of this were originally written for 100quills in 2006. The story as a whole is canon-compliant only through Half-Blood Prince.

The sigh seemed exaggerated, even for Snape. "And just why would I want to listen to your inane maunderings, Potter?"

"Did you have something better to do?" Harry gestured at the bare little room. "We still have eighteen hours to wait before the attack. If we do any magic, it'll be detected, and personally I can't sleep for that long, even if two blankets on a stone floor were less uncomfortable."

"Talking to you is not necessarily preferable to silence," Snape muttered. "Unlike yourself, _I_ have plenty to think about to keep me occupied."

"Like what, potions recipes?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Snape glowered at him. "I've been trying to reformulate the Wolfsbane Potion to be more stable, so that it can be brewed in advance rather than every month. An improvement that I believe your friend Lupin might appreciate."

"Oh," said Harry, looking down. "I didn't realize..."

"No, you wouldn't have."

"You could talk about it with me," Harry offered.

"As if that could possibly help. Miss Granger, perhaps, but not you."

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to stay calm. How did Snape _always_ manage to make him feel small? "Even if I don't know nearly as much about the principles of potion-making as you do, discussing it might be useful," he said stubbornly.

"I would rather not." Snape sat on one of the two rickety wooden chair and closed his eyes. "If you _must_ natter on to stave off your boredom, choose some other topic. Ideally something that might be of mutual interest."

Mutual interest? Snape couldn't possibly have guessed what Harry wanted to talk about, could he? And wasn't going to, not without feeling his way a bit first

"Er," said Harry, "er, why did you decide to do this?"

"Do what, precisely?"

"Come back." He waved his hands vaguely, not sure quite what he meant himself. "Keep helping the Order. After... after Dumbledore, you must have seen in the _Prophet_ , or heard from someone who had, that you were identified as his killer."

"I trusted Albus to have left exonerating information about the orders he gave me, to Minerva if to no one else." Snape frowned. "I didn't think it would take so long for her to believe it."

"That was partly my fault," Harry admitted.

"So I have been given to understand." Opening his eyes, Snape glared at Harry. "Are you enjoying this discussion?"

"I want to know what your motives are," Harry said adamantly. Not that it really made any difference, but he was curious.

"It seems rather late for that, given that you will be relying on my help to destroy your enemy in less than a day." Snape raised his eyebrows. "I might also want to know yours."

"That's easy." Harry shrugged. "It's me or him, according to the prophecy. I don't like it but I've had to get used to the idea."

"But why work with me?" pressed Snape. "We have a long history of, shall we say, mutual dislike. You could have ensured that your partner tomorrow was Shacklebolt, or Moody, or any of a number of other people; you have enough prestige to have done that." For once he sounded more interested than contemptuous.

"I could say that you're the only member of the Order who's actually been inside the building, and knows the most about it, so you're the most... reliable."

"You _could_ say that." Snape pounced on the conditional. "But you don't."

"No." Harry stopped pacing and sat on the other chair, turned slightly away from his companion.

"Why, then?" The dark voice was wary, not a tone Harry was accustomed to hearing from those lips. "Because you don't trust me, I suppose."

Harry laughed at that, a choked snort that he couldn't hold back, even for Snape's furious scowl. "Rather the opposite, actually." They could both die, he reminded himself. Which would be worse – to speak, and risk Snape not just loathing him but having something to hold over his head, should they both live; or to stay silent, and possibly never have the chance again?

"What do you mean? You've never believed that anything I did was for your good, or the Order's good. _That_ has been evident for years."

"Professor." That was not right; Snape was no longer his teacher. To use his surname alone seemed equally wrong, somehow, and he _definitely_ was unable to call him "Severus." There was only one alternative. Harry shook his head and began again, watching Snape sidelong. "Sir."

Snape's eyes widened.

"I was wrong," said Harry. "I misunderstood what you were doing, and why. I apologize."

"Trying to salve your conscience with a last confession?" The snapped words were as condescendingly daunting as anything Harry had ever heard from Snape, but he went on nonetheless.

"Maybe, but that's not all I wanted to say." He faltered at that point, shifting on the seat of the chair and clenching his hands in the folds of his robe.

After several minutes, Snape said, "Well?"

"If we both survive tomorrow... um. I'd like to make it up to you. How I've acted all this time. Anything that you want, from me going away and never darkening your door again, to... well, to putting myself into your hands. For whatever you choose to do with me." Harry risked a more direct glance at Snape, who looked disconcerted. "And I do mean anything," he added softly.

"That is not necessary." Snape's voice was stiff, and Harry could see his throat moving as he swallowed. "You don't want..."

"I _do_ want," Harry knew that it was rude to cut across Snape like that, but he couldn't let the words be said. "Even Ron sees me as The Boy Who Lived, sometimes. You don't. There's no one I could trust more than the person who's seen all my secrets," he flinched and hurried past that tender subject, "who only thinks of me as Harry. Don't you understand?"

Snape was quiet. At last he said, " _If_ we both are alive, this time tomorrow... you may make me that offer again, if you still mean it."

"I will." The promise was sweet on Harry's tongue. "I will."


	2. Something Ventured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry promised to ask again.

He had been thinking about his promise in stray moments all morning as they fought their way in. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to make it; distraction was not something he needed, not when so many lives were at stake. But with Snape next to him, scowling with the effort of staving off the desperate curses of his former colleagues, Harry would have been distracted anyway.

Other members of the Order were supposed to have been breaking into the old manor from other entrances, but they hadn't yet encountered any of their allies when they reached the room where Voldemort waited. Harry was sure that his friends must be in the building, fighting the Death Eaters, because they had encountered too few for any other explanation. Unless some of the Death Eaters had fled altogether – possible. Not something he needed to think about now. Now he had to destroy his enemy, or be destroyed in turn.

"Do you think you can beat me, boy?" Voldemort taunted him. "You haven't the resolve to cast a killing curse. Dear Bellatrix told me of your feeble efforts." Harry drifted around the edge of the room, leaving Snape near the door.

"That's what we're here to find out, isn't it?" said Harry grimly. He drew out his wand, but made no attempt to curse Voldemort yet, only holding his gaze, waiting.

Voldemort came forward, his robes swirling around him as he pushed up his sleeves and sneered. "It will be sweet, very sweet, to at last complete what should have been accomplished twenty years ago. You were as foolish as your parents, to come here to challenge me." He raised his wand. " _Avad_..."

He never finished the phrase. Snape, disregarded, had circled behind his former master and slit his throat. Voldemort crumpled to the floor with a thud, his wand falling from his hand and rolling away.

"Surprising." Snape's voice was dry as he wiped his blade and toed at the corpse in its tangled robes. "I did not expect it to be this easy."

Harry nodded. "Neither did I. But I'm glad. I really didn't want to have to use one of the Unforgivables... although he was wrong. I could have, if I had had to. Thank you." He backed against the wall and sat down, weary after all the hours of anticipation and tension.

"You're welcome." Snape wouldn't meet Harry's eyes.

"The only thing is... you killed him. Not me. Which isn't what the prophecy said." Harry frowned.

"It would not have been possible for me to do so, had you not held his attention," Snape pointed out.

"Don't you want the credit for it?"

"Hardly," snorted Snape. "All I want is to be exonerated of any charges, and then left alone. Preferably for the rest of my life."

Looking at him, Harry believed it. Snape's always-sallow skin was papery, the circles under his eyes looking like enormous bruises, and he was gaunt to the point of emaciation. "All right," said Harry slowly. He pushed himself up to his knees. "Give me the knife."

Snape's expression was unreadable as he handed the blade to Harry and watched as he plunged it into Voldemort's motionless chest.

"There." His voice shook a little. "I can say truthfully that I stabbed Voldemort. Everyone knows that I was prophesied to kill him. They won't ask if you gave the first blow."

"Perhaps not." Snape sounded doubtful.

Harry crawled back to the wall and leaned against it. "Don't worry about it. I've had to deal with Rita Skeeter for ages now. I'll set Hermione on her if need be."

He was nonplused to hear Snape chuckle. "I would favor Miss Granger in that match."

"Me too." Harry sighed. "I suppose we should go tell everyone that we've won, shouldn't we?"

"I expect so."

"But there's something I have to tell you first. What I said last night..."

"Is forgotten," Snape cut him off. "You were far too apprehensive to know what you were saying."

" _No._ " Harry sat upright and glared at him. "No. I meant it. I still mean it, now more than ever. Call it an overdeveloped sense of Gryffindor honor if you like, but it's not just that. For all the mistrust I've shown you, I will make amends – and it's _your_ decision how I should make them. Tell me to leave you alone forever, and I'll do it. Ask for anything I own, and it's yours. You're the one person who knows me, inside and out, better than anyone, and even when I was rude or worse, you didn't change. Everything you did was to ensure that I would reach this day, just as Dumbledore planned."

"I stopped teaching you Occlumency," Snape reminded him. "Which I should not have done. You owe me nothing."

"It's not a question of owing. Don't you see, I _want_ this?" Harry burst out. He went on more softly, "I want _you_. If that's not what you want, then tell me."

Snape opened his mouth as if to speak, but at that moment Ron's voice came through the doorway.

"Harry? Harry, are you there?"

"We're in here." Harry mustered up a smile as Ron came in, followed by Hermione, and a moment later Kingsley Shacklebolt and several other Order members; some of them staggering a bit, but it looked as though everyone had survived. "We're fine. Voldemort's dead." He jerked his thumb at the bloody corpse.

"Oh, _Harry_ ," Hermione cried, pulling him to his feet and hugging him, tears running down her dirt-streaked face. "Oh, you did it, I knew you could."

After that there was no chance to speak again to Snape, not for hours. The wizarding world exploded with joy. Harry endured the endless questions, congratulations, speeches from the Minister and everyone else who thought themselves important. He thought he'd have gone mad without Ron and Hermione sticking by him, when all he wanted was to hear Snape's answer. Not until long after midnight was he able to escape, to flee to his room in Grimmauld Place, searching for silence.

There was a note on the pillow, a single word scratched on it in spiky black ink.

 _Yes._


	3. Hold Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape needs to be certain Harry means what he says.

It had been a week since Voldemort's demise, a week since Snape had left his terse response – _Yes_ – on Harry's pillow, to say that he accepted Harry's apology and would allow him to make amends.

In that week Harry had laid eyes on the older man precisely once, when the Ministry had called all members of the Order of the Phoenix who had participated in the final attack to accept a formal thanks. Harry was told he would be given the Order of Merlin, First Class; the others would all receive the Order of Merlin, Second Class. He bit back his protest that Snape ought also to be granted the First Class honor. Although he had promised not to reveal who had been directly responsible for killing Voldemort, it shamed him to take credit that he didn't fully deserve. From across the room, Snape nodded almost imperceptibly when Harry flushed and stammered his thanks, and that kept him from speaking out.

But now, after a week of wild celebrations throughout wizarding Britain, things were dying down. The house in Grimmauld Place was quiet when Harry entered, careful not to disturb the portrait of Mrs. Black. He slipped along the hallway to the kitchen, where he knew there were a few Butterbeers left by the Weasley twins after an impromptu party two nights before. He had opened one and was taking a healthy gulp when a deep voice spoke from the doorway.

"Good evening, Mister Potter." Snape stepped into the room.

Harry choked and spluttered, setting the bottle down. "You're here," he stated the obvious. "Er. I'd started to think what you wanted was just to be left alone."

"I considered that possibility," said Snape. "It had a certain appeal. Upon further thought, however, I felt I should at least speak with you first." He indicated Harry's drink. "May I?"

"Oh, of course," Harry said hastily, grabbing a second Butterbeer and handing it to Snape. "D'you want to sit down?"

Snape nodded and waited with cool courtesy for Harry to lead the way into the next room. Harry sat on the worn purple-damasked sofa, hoping Snape would sit at the other end, but he chose an armchair a few feet away instead.

"I understand why you made this offer." Dark eyes bored into Harry's own as Snape drank.

Harry flushed; Snape's skill at Legilimency doubtless gave him more knowledge of Harry's motives than was comfortable.

"In part, at least. Your ideas of fair play and honor are as typically Gryffindor as I've ever seen. But I think you may come to regret this."

"I won't," blurted Harry. "I'm sure of that."

Snape raised a finger. "Don't interrupt, Potter." The way he growled Harry's name sent a shiver down Harry's spine and into his groin, and he nodded silently.

"You think that by submitting yourself to me you will expiate any offenses of the past, but I assure you that no matter what you do, your former misdeeds will continue to weigh on your conscience. There is no respite." The dim light of the lamps in the room exaggerated the lines around the corners of Snape's mouth and the sagging skin of his neck. "I could demand anything of you; you set no limits. One final time, I ask you: is this truly what you want?"

"It is." Harry swallowed. "I told you before. Especially now, almost everyone who looks at me will see me as not just the Boy Who Lived, but as the Chosen One, the Hero of the Wizarding World. Even Seamus, who shared a room with me for years, is treating me differently. But to you, I'm just Harry... and I need that. I need _you_. Do you want me to be plainer? Yes. You can ask anything of me, _anything_ , and I'll do it; just treat me as Harry, a real person, someone who maybe is irritating to you, but not set apart and untouchable."

"Not untouchable." Snape's lip curled. "You give yourself away, Mister Potter. But what if I do not wish to touch you?"

The question was like a blow. He had been certain that Snape was like himself, preferring men. Now Harry realized that he really had no evidence of that; he had merely assumed it.

"Then you needn't." He was proud that his voice didn't shake. "If you'd rather that I keep away from you, I will. It's the least I can do." He met Snape's gaze. "Read my thoughts if you'd like and you'll know I'm telling the truth."

"As I have tried on several occasions to explain to you, Legilimency is not mind-reading." Snape made an exasperated sound.

"Sensing my emotions, then. Whatever. You know that I can't block you, and I'm offering you the chance to look freely." Harry's mind was churning, memories from school mixing with more recent thoughts and fancies, a tangle of feelings that even he could not sort out but which had drawn him to put himself in this vulnerable position. Snape might laugh, might walk out, might pity him...

He did none of these things, simply looking at Harry, his expression unreadable but intent. What he said next came as an utter surprise.

"Only if you do the same."

Harry's mouth dropped open. Snape couldn't mean that. But the other man nodded, so Harry thought back to the one time that he had found his way into Snape's memories, and tried to recapture it, focusing on Snape's face and _pushing_ at his mind. It was far easier than he recalled, now that Snape was not attempting to shut him out, but the images flickered wildly.

"Oh!" As he tried to sort through what he was seeing, Harry recognized himself in Snape's thoughts, and felt a surge of emotion – compassion/resentment/pride/irritation/lust, all mixed together. This was how Snape felt about him, he understood, this confusion of feeling so similar to his own.

He blinked, overwhelmed, and suddenly Snape was next to him on the sofa. He smelt of bitter herbs and faintly of something that Harry could not quite place. Harry could see blue whiskers under the skin of his cheeks and chin. He reached to touch, needing to feel the roughness to anchor himself to reality once more, but Snape caught his wrist.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"You..." Snape shut his eyes briefly, shaking his head. "I couldn't be sure, from what I saw. I am not the first, for you?"

Snape was frightened, Harry realized, though he couldn't see why. "No." He didn't elaborate, but Snape's jaw unclenched.

"Good." He sat back. "I came here tonight planning to refuse you. Oh, I was sure that you thought you meant what you said; and as a Gryffindor you would go through with it."

Harry waited when Snape stopped speaking. If Snape had planned to refuse him... did that mean he'd changed his mind, now?

"I still should, I suppose." The smile was bitter, self-mocking. "And I may come to regret this decision. But if I am the only one you trust to treat you simply as a person, rather than as a hero, well, you're the only one who thinks of me as something other than a traitor who has tried to redeem himself. And I can hardly deny the appeal of that."

Relief welled up inside him as Harry whispered, "I'm glad, sir." For the first time in months he felt unburdened by either obligation or achievement. He had no illusions that Snape would be any less prickly or sarcastic than he had ever been; he didn't want that. "Severus." This was enough.

"Harry," said Snape, and reached for him.


	4. Thou My Oblation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape accepts Harry's offering.

Snape's body was bony under the fabric of his robes. He had driven himself hard, just as Harry had, in pursuing Voldemort's destruction. Tentatively, Harry ran his hands down Snape's back, feeling the stiff angles as their lips came together in a first, awkward kiss.

It felt _right_ , somehow, as none of the kisses Harry had given or received before had done. Awkward, yes, until Harry turned his head and squirmed to get into a better angle, and urgent, yet somehow unhurried. Neither of them was going anywhere. Snape had said that he had intended to refuse Harry, but he had changed his mind, and clearly that meant a complete change. He kissed as if he didn't care whether anything more ever happened between them. Harry shivered with the intensity of it, focusing on each movement of Snape's lips and tongue against his own.

He didn't know how long they simply lay there on the sofa, embraced, tasting each other's mouths. His glasses came askew within moments, but when the poke of the earpiece became too uncomfortable and he finally reached to pull them off, Snape did it for him, lifting them gently. They caught on one ear and Snape gave a little grunt as if he were afraid he had hurt Harry. He set them on the table beyond Harry's head.

"Severus." He spoke the name in a half-whisper, still finding it strange on his tongue.

Dark hooded eyes met his own. "Yes?"

"I... I want..." Harry faltered, unsure of what he did want, of how to say it. "I want to know what _you_ want," he hedged in the end, convinced that the expression on Snape's face was sufferance, not patience. He could no longer reach past the cool surface into the memories the other man had shared so briefly.

"What I want?" A sardonic smile touched those thin lips. "Surely that is obvious." Snape twisted, the firmness of his cock pressing against Harry's leg.

Harry lifted his hand, rubbing his thumb over the faint stubble as he traced the line of Snape's jaw and then swept up to his mouth. "I mean, how." He felt his face grow warm. "I offered to do anything you want. I hoped you would want something like this, but... I need to know just what that is."

"You'll do anything I want," repeated Snape, his fingers tightening on Harry's shoulders. "Anything at all?"

Fear touched him. What if Snape wanted something extreme, perhaps to beat Harry, or worse? That wasn't impossible; Snape's emotions toward him had been so complex that Harry could not disentangle them. But he had promised, and he would not renege. He steeled himself to say it, though he could not entirely control the tremor in his voice.. "Anything."

Snape sighed and pulled away, sitting up. "I prefer my partners to be enthusiastic, not merely willing. I should not have accepted your offer."

"No!" Harry spoke without thought or hesitation. "I want this. I do." He reached to touch Snape's leg, sliding up along the dark fabric until he reached Snape's cock. "Please. It's not because I'm... I mean, it's been a long time since I've been with anyone, and I know you might think I made this offer because I'm desperate for some kind of acceptance, but that's not the reason. I don't want to be with just anyone I want _you_."

Snape's face was composed. "So you're asking what I want so that you know how to act." It was not a question, but Harry answered it as one nonetheless.

"Well... yeah, that's more or less what I meant," said Harry, now embarrassed. Should he have simply started to undo that long line of buttons and let events take their course, instead of speaking?

"Harry." Snape looked serious, even stern, almost as if he were about to take points from Gryffindor. "I thought you didn't want to be treated as a hero."

"I don't!" Harry protested. "What does that have to do with it?"

"You need to allow yourself to make mistakes, then," said Snape. "It's not necessary that this... encounter... be perfect, is it?"

Harry bit his lip. "It is if it's the only one that there will be between us." He hadn't wanted to admit that he cared.

"Ah. That concerns you." Snape raised one eyebrow. "And if I say that I do not intend for this to be our only evening together, will you be reassured?"

"Yes," said Harry, relief flooding through him. Snape wasn't treating this as a casual fling. Not that Snape was ever casual. And if he wanted Harry to be not just willing but passionate, then he wouldn't ask for something Harry didn't want to give, would he? It would be all right. He sat up and leaned against Snape's shoulder, pressing his nose against Snape's neck under his ear and breathing in the scent of his skin, noticing once more the bitter herbal odor of something he could not quite place.

An arm came around him, and then they were kissing again, but this time Harry retained enough of his wits to reach for the throat of Snape's robes and start unbuttoning. He himself was wearing a jumper – one of Mrs. Weasley's creations – with a t-shirt under it, and Snape slipped one hand below the jumper to pull his shirt free from his trousers and slide along the skin of Harry's back, drawing him closer.

"Mmm," breathed Snape into Harry's ear, his fingertips tracing along Harry's side and up to his armpit, tugging gently at the hair there. It very nearly tickled, but not quite, and rather to his own shock Harry found it intensely erotic. He squirmed as every drop of blood in his body seemed to rush straight to his prick, which was pressed most uncomfortably against the zip of his jeans. He stopped fumbling with Snape's buttons and tried to adjust the fabric binding his crotch, twisting until he could bring one knee underneath him, and then swinging his other leg around to nestle into Snape's lap.

"Do you need some assistance?" Snape's voice was smooth and dark, and despite the implicit sarcasm the sound of it sent tendrils of warmth through Harry's body.

"No, thank you," he said, returning to his self-imposed task of removing Snape's robes, as much of them as he could now reach, at least. When he had unbuttoned them to the point where his own body prevented him from going further, he eased the heavy dark cloth aside and saw pale skin liberally strewn with coarse black hair. He touched it, his fingers tentative, moving to find the moist heat of Snape's armpit, to see if he could make Snape feel the same arousal he did.

Snape gasped; a glance at his face, eyes closed, head thrown back, told Harry that his efforts were, if not entirely successful, at least on the right track. He bent down to suck fiercely at the hollow of Snape's throat.

Without warning Snape pushed Harry away, just far enough to yank Harry's jumper over his head, then took his wand from a pocket in his robes and tapped the sofa, Transfiguring it into a bed and causing several tables to be knocked aside in the process. Before he quite knew how it had happened Harry found himself sprawled out, naked to the waist, with Snape undoing his jeans as if any delay might be more dangerous to life and sanity than Voldemort ever had been.

A muttered spell, and Snape was leaning over Harry, unable to conceal a thread of anxiety in his voice. "You did say that you were... not inexperienced, with men?"

Harry shook his head, unable to speak. Snape's hand closed around the base of Harry's cock, guiding him into tight clenching heat.

"Let me..." Snape began to press down, his robes bunched around his waist. When his arse was brushing Harry's thighs, he held still for a minute. Harry was surprised, but he supposed that Snape must be accustoming himself to the feel of Harry's prick inside his body. He had only rarely been the bottom in his previous encounters with men, but he had expected that Snape would want to fuck him, and had in fact looked forward to it, to Snape taking him that way. This was unexpected, and if Snape had begun to move immediately Harry doubted that he could have held back at all.

Instead he looked up, running his gaze along the length of Snape's body. What he had felt through the heavy robes earlier was more than confirmed. Snape was thin to the point of gauntness; his belly was soft but almost nonexistent, and Harry could count his ribs under the tufts of dark hair. His Adam's apple jutted out, emphasizing the thinness of his neck, and his beaky nose dominated a face that was at present tense, poised between distress and pleasure at the feel of Harry's cock inside him. Any objective viewer would have described him as ugly, but Harry thought he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

As his eyes met Snape's, the other man began to move, flexing his thighs to rise up and down, letting Harry's cock thrust into his body. In those dark eyes Harry caught his own reflection – and then once again the barriers fell and he knew that Snape would allow him to see inside his thoughts. Astonished pleasure was the first impression that Harry sensed. He wasn't sure why the surprise; surely Snape had done such things before as well, or he would not have accepted Harry's offer? But Harry was glad to know that Snape found it so enjoyable. Perhaps the surprise was simply being with Harry at all. Harry allowed himself to think of how good it felt to him, too, the way that Snape's arse squeezed him as he moved rhythmically, rippling along his prick. All of a sudden he not only sensed Snape's pleasure, he _felt_ it, as if he _were_ Snape, as if he were fucking himself. He could feel the penetration, the way that the head of his prick slid past Snape's prostate, stimulating it almost unbearably . Harry reached to touch Snape's jutting prick, feeling the dampness at its head and starting to move his hand in time with Snape's own movements, letting Snape be the one to set the rhythm for them both.

"Harry," Snape whispered, his voice so low it was very nearly a groan.

"Severus," Harry choked out in return.

He saw Snape's eyes widen and worried for an instant that Snape found the use of his first name too intimate, though he hadn't objected earlier, but then Snape nodded, and paused in his rocking to lean forward and kiss Harry in a tangle of tongues and lips, rough and hard. His cock pulsed, trapped between them.

Snape bit at Harry's jaw at his ear, murmuring, "Come for me, Harry, it's all right... come for me," as he rocked now deeper, pressing Harry as far inside as he could.

Harry felt Snape's prick quiver beneath his hand, felt Snape's arse flexing around his prick. At the quiet command he came, whimpering, his eyes seeking out Snape's gaze once again, recognizing the triumph that Snape felt – a pleasure that was more than that of the body. Snape rocked up and down a few more times, his hand closing over Harry's on his own prick, moving them together until he too was splashing and spattering across Harry's chest, then letting himself fall forward, turning his head away to rest on Harry's shoulder with Harry's prick still inside him. He was so emaciated that it was not uncomfortable.

Hesitantly Harry smoothed his hand along Snape's spine. Even now Snape felt stiff, awkward. Harry did too. He wasn't sure what to say.

"Would you like to stay here tonight?" he asked hesitantly at last. "There are guest bedrooms. The beds are made," he added when Snape lifted his head to look at him with an odd expression.

Snape took a deep breath as he were going to say something, then let it out without speaking, examining Harry's face as if he were trying to read an answer there.

"Or... you could sleep in my bed," said Harry softly, with hope.

Snape nodded. "I would... I would like that, I think."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from Shakespeare's sonnet 125.


	5. My Purpose Holds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's unsure if Severus wants anyone else to know.

When Harry woke, he felt better than he had for a long time. Snape was still snoring gently next to him in the bed, one arm flung up across the pillow. His face was calm in repose, though Harry was shocked to see how old he looked, the circles under his eyes startlingly dark in the early morning light. Even his beaky nose looked thin, almost fragile. Harry decided to go downstairs and see what he had in the house for breakfast; at the very least, he could make the two of them some tea.

He shivered as he slid out from beneath the covers and padded across the room to pull a pair of pajamas from the drawer. It was a bit too cold to go wandering around Grimmauld Place with nothing on. Harry smiled as he thought about the reason why he had slept naked last night, something he didn't often do.

Closing the door quietly behind him, he hurried downstairs. He had heard no sounds, so when he went into the kitchen he was startled to see Fred and George Weasley standing by the fridge, peering inside.

"I was sure we left a dozen bottles here," Fred was saying, "but I only see eight. D'you reckon I miscounted?"

"No." George shook his head. "I think the culprit for the missing Butterbeers has just come in." He looked over his shoulder, then turned. "Our host. Looking rather more relaxed than he has done lately."

"Ah, Harry." Fred straightened, closing the door to the fridge. "If you drank them, no worries." He looked Harry up and down. "I'd say you look more relaxed than four Butterbeers last night would account for. I think he's been up to something, George."

"Have someone over, did you?" George leaned back against the cabinets, a smirk spreading across his face. "Do tell. I know it wasn't Ginny, Mum dragged her home to the Burrow. One of the Patil twins? I saw the way that Parvati was looking at you the other day. That girl won't take no for an answer."

Harry couldn't think of anything to say that was neither an outright lie nor the complete truth, so he just shook his head.

"Is whoever it is still upstairs?" asked Fred shrewdly.

"Er, yeah," Harry muttered, hoping that that bit of knowledge would satisfy the twins for the moment, though what he really wanted was for them to give up and go away. That was doubtless too much to hope for.

"Well done, Harry!" exclaimed George. "Come on, tell us. Who is it? Not Ginny, not Parvati -- don't tell me it's Loony Luna, or worse yet, one of those crazy witches who've been sending you fan mail."

"You know we'll find out eventually," grinned Fred.

"Hang on." George squinted at Harry, then looked at Fred, who nodded. "It is a girl, isn't it? Or is it a bloke you have hidden away upstairs, Harry?"

Harry couldn't stop the rush of blood to his cheeks, though again he didn't answer in words.

"Oh ho." Fred nodded at George. "Don't tell Charlie, George."

"I won't, Fred."

They both stared at Harry.

"Why not tell Charlie?" Harry asked, confused.

George shrugged. "If you really want our older brother making a pass at you, we'll go ahead."

"Charlie's queer?" Harry felt as if the bottom were falling out of his world. Charlie had always seemed so tough and manly, with his work with dragons. He was so at ease with himself that it had never entered Harry's head that Charlie might be anything but completely straight.

"He is," Fred affirmed. "Part of the reason he went off to Romania, isn't it, to keep Mum from fussing at him all the time about finding a nice girlfriend. We figured it out from how he talked about his mates there, and made him tell us. But don't worry. If you're already spoken for I don't think he'll bother you."

"I am curious, though," said George, stepping closer to Harry. "Just who is it? Someone we know?"

"I'm sure it is," Fred agreed. "He'd have told us already otherwise. Harry wouldn't be afraid to say he's queer, would he? After killing You-Know-Who, nothing could possibly frighten him."

Harry felt trapped. The twins were just too quick, guessing the truth even if he said nothing. "Does it matter who it is?" he asked with a show of bravado.

"We're interested, Harry, that's all," said Fred easily.

"Wouldn't want you to be taken advantage of by someone who only sees you as the Boy Who Lived," said George. "You're like a brother to us."

"And brothers should look out for their little brothers, shouldn't they?" said Fred.

Harry nodded, then shook his head. "I really don't think I need any help on this," he said. "Honestly."

"All right, if that's the way you want it." George shrugged. "We will find out eventually, if you stick with whoever it is."

"Or if that horrible Skeeter woman digs it up." The serious expression sat awkwardly on Fred's face. "You want to watch out for her, Harry."

"I will." Harry wondered desperately how to convince them to leave. It would be appalling if Snape were to wander down just now. Perhaps something of his dismay showed on his face, because Fred swept up half of the bottles of Butterbeer and left George to take the rest.

"We'd better be getting back to our own flat," he said cheerfully, much to Harry's relief. "You might want to think about resetting some of the locking charms on this place, you know? Anyone in the Order could wander in, after all."

George winked at Harry, saying nothing, then followed Fred out of the room. Harry could hear them talking as they went along the hallway to the front door, though he couldn't make out the actual words.

When the front door slammed, some of the tension left Harry, and he promptly put the kettle on to boil. Once the tea had brewed, Harry set the pot on a tray with two cups. He wasn't sure if Snape used milk and sugar or not, but Harry did, so he added the sugar bowl and a small pitcher of milk, plus spoons, then levitated the whole thing to float behind him as he went upstairs. Snape had shifted a bit; Harry hoped that meant he would wake up soon. In the meantime, he poured himself a cup of tea, climbed back into the bed, and leaned against the headboard, sipping and thinking.

He was just adding milk and sugar to his second cup when Snape rolled over, bumping into Harry's knee. That seemed to be what woke him up, for he gave a kind of snort, clutching at the bed clothes.

"Severus?" said Harry softly. It still felt odd to call his former professor by his first name, but after last night if they weren't on first name terms, then things had gone badly wrong. "I brought tea. Would you like some?"

Snape groped around with his hand and patted Harry's leg, as if assuring himself that Harry was really there. "Tea," came the muffled response.

"Yes, tea," said Harry. "I can pour you a cup. Do you like milk? Sugar?"

Snape shook his head, his face still turned into the mattress. At least, Harry was pretty sure that was what he was doing, so he poured the cup full and stroked Snape's shoulder with his other hand. "You'll have to sit up to drink it, you know."

"I haven't lost all of my wits overnight, Harry." There was less bite in the dark voice than usual, however, and when Snape rolled over, his expression was softer than Harry had ever seen it. He levered himself upright and took the cup from Harry, sipping at it. "Thank you."

What Harry would really have liked to do was to take the cup away from Snape's lips and kiss him, but he had to tell Snape what had happened. "We had guests this morning."

"What?" Snape choked slightly on his tea.

"Oh, I don't mean anyone came in here," said Harry hastily. "But when I went down to make tea, Fred and George were in the kitchen."

"And what in the names of all the mages were the Weasley twins doing here at this hour of the morning?"

Harry felt compelled to defend them, saying, "Well, it isn't that early. It's nearly eleven o'clock."

"Nevertheless, what was their purpose? Surely they don't check up on you daily." Snape raised an eyebrow.

"No, they were here to fetch the Butterbeers they'd left in the fridge earlier this week. But the thing is," Harry paused and swallowed. "The thing is, they guessed that I had someone staying here. Last night. I didn't tell them who, though."

"Why not?" Snape's voice was cool, and he looked intently at Harry over the rim of his tea cup as he took another drink.

"I didn't want them to know."

"And why did you not want them to know I was here?" asked Snape.

Suddenly Harry realized that perhaps Snape thought he, Harry, was ashamed of what they had done. "No," he said. "It's not that I didn't... I mean, I wasn't sure if you would want anyone to know you had stayed with me. You've always been very... reserved. And we hadn't talked about it."

"I see." Snape sounded thoughtful. "So you refused to tell the Weasleys in order to protect me?"

"Something like that," said Harry. He hadn't had anything quite so specific in mind, really; he had just felt that it would be a bad idea to share such information with people who would most likely treat it as an enormous joke. Which it wasn't at all, not to Harry, but he knew that most of his friends would laugh at the idea of him and Snape together, if not positively disbelieve it. Certainly it wasn't something he wanted to explain on the spur of the moment.

"Ah." Snape held his cup out to Harry. "More, please?" Harry refilled it. "I suppose we had better talk, at least a little bit, about this. Us." His face looked thin and pinched.

"It's not that I don't want anyone to know," said Harry. "But it's not as if the _Prophet_ and the _Quibbler_ and the WWN are likely to leave my private life alone." He gave Snape a twisted sort of grin. "They never did before, and I'm sure they won't start now."

"And unlike Gilderoy Lockhart, you don't feel that the more publicity, the better?" Snape said.

Harry laughed. "Hardly." He took a breath. "I enjoyed last night. Very much." He felt his cheeks warming as he spoke. "I'd be happy if you want to continue, but the promise was that I would do whatever you wished. So it's up to you, really. If you only wanted one night, then we needn't tell anyone at all, ever, if you don't want to."

Snape was eyeing him closely. "And if I do want more than a single night?"

"Then it's still up to you, I guess. Unless you think we should decide together," said Harry. "I don't want to hide, or lie to my friends, but I don't exactly want my private life splashed across the headlines."

Snape gave an inelegant snort. "I think you'll find that it is impossible for Harry Potter not to be in the headlines, regardless of your feelings on the matter. You might just possibly have some control over how often you appear in them, but I rather suspect that's the most you can hope for."

"Maybe it would be best to simply let it be known, then," Harry said thoughtfully. "If it's out in the open -- that I'm with you -- then there's not too much grist for the gossip mill, is there?"

"Less, I should hope, but not nothing." Snape shook his head. "Skeeter and her ilk will always be able to find rumors: that we've been seen quarreling in public, that's there's someone else on the horizon, all that sort of thing. We both know the sort of rubbish printed in her column."

"That'll still be better than having reporters dogging me all the time, printing rumors about me with other people. But only if you're willing, Severus. If you'd prefer to keep things quiet, then I'll go along with that instead."

Snape set down his teacup and ran a warm bony finger along the line of Harry's jaw, tracing the outline of Harry's mouth. "You do realize, don't you, that if you let it be known you're in a..." he trailed off.

"A relationship?" offered Harry. He opened his lips to suck on the tip of Snape's thumb.

He had never expected to see that shade of red on Severus Snape's face. "Yes." Snape coughed. "If it's known that you and I are... together, there is likely to be some unpleasantness. You may be a hero of the wizarding world, but I am not, and there are bound to be a good number of witches, and a few wizards as well, who will have hoped to get to know you in some fashion. We can each expect a fair number of letters to that effect, and doubtless some Howlers as well."

Harry shrugged. "It's worth a try." He squeezed Snape's hand. "I'm not saying that I want to leap into things too quickly, you understand. I'm not asking you to move in here today or next week. Not unless you want to; the house is certainly plenty big enough for that." He chuckled. "In fact, I used to plan that Ron, and Hermione, and maybe a few others as well, could all move in once the war was over and we'd share the place while we figured out what to do with the rest of our lives."

"If you have any wish to have me stay here, I would prefer that Grimmauld Place not be overrun by your cohorts." Snape's tone was firm, although he dropped his hand to squeeze Harry's leg as he spoke.

"Right, I'll keep that in mind, then." Harry grinned. "At any rate, I won't invite anyone else to move in just yet. So you're free to choose a room and stay here if you like, or go home to your own place if you prefer. Though I'd hope you'd visit, or I would."

Snape scowled. "Spinner's End is in ill repair, and I was never very fond of it anyway."

"So you'll stay here?" Harry ignored the flutter of excitement in his stomach and tried to speak calmly.

"For the time being. I will feel more comfortable if there is a room that is my own." He cocked his head at Harry. "Just tell me which was your late godfather's room, so that I may avoid that one."

A bubble of laughter welled up, but Harry suppressed it. "I'll show you which one belonged to Sirius. And there are a few that have had other people staying in them, as you know, but that shouldn't be a problem. You want to go and look now?"

Snape reached over and took Harry's teacup away, placing it next to his own. "Perhaps in a little while," he murmured as he bent his head to brush his lips over Harry's.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from Alfred Tennyson, "Ulysses". Thanks to telperion1 for the beta!


	6. Battlements on Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wants to sleep with Severus, but he'll take what he can get.

"Severus." The name still felt odd on Harry's tongue. Snape had been staying in Grimmauld Place for a fortnight now; he had chosen a room for himself – _not_ the one that had belonged to Sirius – and had moved in most of his personal belongings, although Harry knew that a number of his books still waited at Spinner's End.

They had spent most of those days in each other's company. Sometimes they talked, sometimes there was a silence that was less uncomfortable than Harry would ever have expected. Tonight had been one of the quiet evenings, each of them reading at opposite ends of the large sofa. Snape had a volume on the magical properties of wild fungus, while Harry was rather more desultorily skimming through the latest issue of _Which Broomstick_.

"Severus," he repeated.

Closing his book, but leaving one finger between the pages, Snape looked up. "What is it?"

"Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Snape arched an eyebrow. "What else have we been doing for the past two weeks?"

"Not have sex. I mean, I want to do that, too, but I mean, can I stay in your room all night?" Harry tried not to let his expression become too beseeching. It was true, they had had sex every night since the first, and most of the days as well. Just the memory of it had Harry's cock springing to life and ready for another performance, but they had not slept, just _slept_ , all night in the same bed since the very first time – which had been followed by Weasley twins' unexpected morning visit.

"Why?" Snape's expression was closed off. "I prefer to sleep alone. It has no reflection on you, I assure you."

"Are you worried that you'll snore? Or that I will? No one at Hogwarts ever said that I did, except maybe when I had a cold. If _you_ do, well, I got used to Neville; you wouldn't believe the sounds he made. And both of our beds are plenty big enough."

"Somehow I find myself unsurprised that Longbottom caused a nightly disturbance," Snape sniffed. "But I still prefer my solitude at night."

"But why?" Harry wanted to know. He had liked waking up next to Snape the one time it had happened, and he hadn't thought that Snape had disliked the experience either. "We did it once, why not again?"

"Why is this so important to you?" Snape countered.

The question made Harry blink. "Because that's what you're supposed to do if you're living with someone?"

Snape curled his lip. " _You_ , Harry? Suggesting that some unspoken, assumed rule should be obeyed unthinkingly?" He reached for the strip of leather he used as a bookmark and slid it between the pages of his book, setting it aside and turning to face Harry more fully. "I confess myself surprised."

"It isn't just that," Harry said. He hesitated, trying to find a way to put his feelings into words. Snape waited, dark eyes never leaving Harry's face.

At last Harry said, "You know how I was brought up by my aunt and uncle, before I came to Hogwarts, right? Dumbledore must have told you something, and I expect you learned more from when you tried to teach me Occlumency."

Snape nodded.

"I slept in the cupboard under the stairs for my entire childhood. Alone. I didn't even hear rats scuttling about; Aunt Petunia was too good a housekeeper for that. And spiders were quiet." Harry was able to laugh about it now, a little, but quickly became serious again.

"It wasn't a very nice childhood. I always knew that I was not wanted, not... not loved." He bit his lip.

A hint of pink stained Snape's cheeks. "Go on."

"Then I came to Hogwarts, and everything was different. For the first time in my life I had friends. Ron especially, but the other boys too. I felt like I _belonged_ , in that dormitory."

"So you associate sleeping alone with a lack of... affection."

"Yeah. I hadn't ever really thought about it before, but that's why I want to sleep with you." Harry swallowed and looked down.

"I see." Snape's rich voice was thoughtful.

"So – are you willing?"

"My sleeping experiences are not the same as yours, Harry."

"So explain them to me. I did promise you that I would do whatever you wanted, but it would be easier if I understood why you _don't_ want this."

Snape was silent for so long that Harry thought he might refuse to speak altogether. His skin was still papery, the circles beneath his eyes like great bruises.

"There were, shall we say, unpleasant incidents when I was a student," Snape said softly at last. "I have always valued my privacy." He had clasped his hands together in his lap, and bowed his head so that Harry could only see his beaky nose through the curtain of lank dark hair.

"Is that all?" Harry asked doubtfully. "Not that it wouldn't be enough reason," he added hastily. "I just wondered."

"Some things are better left unshared." The set of Snape's jaw told Harry that it would be unwise to press him any further just now. "I am not comfortable with the idea of sleeping with anyone else in the bed on any kind of regular basis. It has nothing to do with you, and that's all I care to say on the matter."

Harry had no choice but to let it go for the moment, although the little that Snape had said made him curious. If it _wasn't_ just bad experiences in his school days, what could have happenedto make him so reluctant on this point?

Before Snape could pick up his book again, Harry had moved down the sofa and wriggled his way into Snape's lap.

"All right. If I can't sleep with you, can we find something to occupy us for the rest of the evening?"

Snape stroked Harry's hair back from his forehead. It made Harry feel warm, safe, to have someone touch him that way; the same sort of feeling he would get from spending the night in Snape's bed, he thought, but if this was all he could have, he would take it.

"I've been thinking, Harry." Snape continued to move his hand rhythmically.

"Mm. About what?"

"You indicated to me some days ago that you would tell your friends about our... relationship."

There was a hint of distaste in the way Snape inflected the last word. Did he not want to be with Harry? No, Harry assured himself. Snape would have simply left, or refused Harry's offer in the first place, if that were so.

"Yes, I did."

"But you haven't done so yet."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I thought it would be better for both of us to wait a little while," said Harry honestly. "It's going to seem strange to an awful lot of people, and there didn't seem to be any great rush. If after a week you'd decided that you had enough of me," his throat tightened at the thought, "then I didn't want to have argued about it with Ron or whoever for no purpose. I don't think you've told anyone, either?"

Snape sniffed. "I have no one who would be interested in my affairs the way so many are in yours."

"None of the other teachers from Hogwarts? I thought that you and Professor McGonagall were friends of a sort, even if you did disagree about a lot."

"I suppose," Snape allowed. "But Minerva has a good deal more on her mind than my love life, I assure you." He had begun to run his fingers over the line of Harry's jaw, tracing the bones and then dipping down to brush the hollow of his throat. It was relaxing and stimulating at once, and Harry squirmed slightly, feeling the bulge of Snape's cock against his bum.

"Look," he said, turning so that he could meet Snape's eyes. "I'll tell my closest friends if you'll tell yours. Fair?"

"When did you have in mind?" Snape sounded wary.

"Within a week, maybe? And it needn't be in person, either, you could write letters." Harry grinned. "Actually, I think that's what I'll do to start with; write a letter explaining things to Ron and Hermione, and tell them that I'm closing off the Floo connection and keeping the house locked up for three days, so that they'll _have_ to calm down before Ron can come in here and yell at me."

Ron was going to be shocked, that was certain. Harry was thankful that last year he had at least let Ron know that he didn't think he was totally straight, even if Ron persisted in believing that it was just some temporary phase Harry was going through. "Hermione won't be so bad as he will."

"Is there anyone else important to you, that you need to tell?"

Harry met Snape's eyes, and let him read the truth in Harry's. "No. I broke up with Ginny more than a year ago, and although at the time we both thought we'd get back together someday, that wasn't how it worked out. I don't think she thinks of me as anything more than a friend any more; she seems very happy with Justin. So it's Ron and Hermione who should know first. I'll tell everyone else later."

"Agreed, then." Snape tightened his embrace. "You tell Mister Weasley and Miss Granger, and I shall tell Minerva, and we shall see what transpires afterward."

"Now that that's settled, can we have sex?" Harry asked in his cheekiest voice, just to see the momentary shock in Snape's face before he controlled it.

"If you insist," replied Snape in his driest tones.

It was Harry's turn to pause before he realized that this was only Snape's sense of humor at work. He was learning to understand it, but it still baffled him at times. Now he put on an exaggerated expression of dismay and said, "If you don't _want_ to..."

Snape rolled his eyes. "You're incorrigible."

"Actually," Harry said a little hesitantly, "I wondered if maybe there was anything special you wanted to do."

"Special?" Snape drew his eyebrows together.

Harry shrugged. "I've liked everything we've done, but you know I don't have all that much experience; not something that's easy to come by during a war, you know. So I didn't know if maybe there was something you liked to do, or wanted to try for that matter, that we haven't done."

With a snort, Snape said, "My tastes are not particularly exotic. Or are you trying to say that you'd like me to take charge more, in bed?"

Harry nodded, squirming a little. Then he added, "Sir."

A spark flared in Snape's eyes. "Very well." He shoved Harry gently off his lap and rose. "I think upstairs, in your room."

Harry knew the choice of location was so that Snape would be able to leave and sleep in his own room when he chose, but he didn't object, too eager at the thought of Snape taking control. He tugged at Snape's hand to hurry them upstairs.

He expected that Snape would tell him exactly what to do from the moment that they reached Harry's room, but instead Snape began the way they mostly had done, undressing and quickly tumbling onto the bed. He seemed less uncomfortable now than he had the first few days with letting Harry see him naked, gaunt and battered though his body was.

"Aren't you going to tell me what to do?" said Harry rather plaintively after they had lain kissing for a few moments, legs interlaced and hips rocking their cocks together.

Snape gave a low chuckle. "Actually, I'm going to tell you what _not_ to do. You're not to come until I say that you may."

"Oh," said Harry blankly.

"I think you will find that it can in fact be quite gratifying to be denied," Snape told him. He nuzzled his way down Harry's body to his erect and straining cock, taking it into his mouth, but letting go again before Harry could properly enjoy the sensation. His fingertips skimmed over Harry's sac, feeling the shape of each of his bollocks in turn. Harry heard himself make – surely that wasn't a _whimper_ coming from his throat?

Snape exhaled a warm breath over the damp head of Harry's prick, licked the length once again, and then abandoned it in order to suckle on his bollocks. His clever fingers were now brushing over the skin below, prodding gently at Harry's arse. Harry hadn't heard him cast a lubrication charm, but he must have done, because one fingertip, no, two, Harry could feel them both, slid inside without resistance, probing. The feel of having Snape inside him made Harry gasp. Fingers might in theory seem less intimate than a cock, but Snape's face was down there too; he was watching Harry now, no longer tonguing him, just watching as his fingers moved in and out, as Harry drew his knees up to open himself further for Snape.

Unthinkingly he reached for his cock. When Snape saw Harry's hand moving, though, he stopped, warning, "Remember, not until I tell you." Harry swallowed. He wanted to beg Snape to stop teasing him, to go ahead and fuck him, but he couldn't complain when Snape was giving him exactly what he'd asked for. He put his hands to his sides instead, clenching them in the bed sheets, and Snape nodded approvingly from between Harry's thighs, once again licking along Harry's cock in approbation.

Moment by moment Harry's need to come increased as Snape toyed with him, sometimes kissing, sometimes nipping at the tender skin of his thighs, sometimes doing nothing but move his fingers steadily in and out of Harry's arsehole. Harry had never before thought that could feel so good for so long; he had naturally tended to focus on his cock, but now Snape was largely ignoring it, drawing out Harry's pleasure in very different ways.

Harry was so distracted by how Snape was making him feel that he didn't realize that he had begun to mutter Snape's name over and over, "Severus" interspersed with "please" and "oh god" and "yes" – but when Snape suddenly stopped, leaving Harry writhing on the brink of orgasm, he realized that his last words had been, "Love you."

Harry swallowed and lifted his head, opening his eyes to meet Snape's sharp stare.

"Did you mean that?" Snape demanded.

Mutely, Harry nodded, and watched Snape's face turn red. With a little shake of his head, he took hold of Harry's cock and said in a rasping voice, "You may come," before sucking at him almost savagely.

The unexpectedness of it was such a shock that Harry cried out as his body responded immediately, feeling himself as deep into Snape as Snape was into him. He was known, possessor and possessed at once, and that thought was both joyous and terrifying. He didn't know if Snape felt the same; he hoped so, but he knew better than to expect to hear any such admission from Snape's lips, certainly not yet.

Limp from both self-revelation and orgasm, Harry nevertheless managed to push himself up enough to reach for Snape, saying, "I... sir, I... please. I want you. I need you to come inside me. Severus."

Snape's throat worked. He gave a single nod, pushing himself up and positioning himself over Harry, sliding smoothly inside him and beginning to thrust rapidly. His face was contorted and Harry touched his cheek with careful fingers. It was only a moment before Snape stilled, quivering, his lips parting in a gasp as he came. He withdrew and Harry lowered his legs to let Snape roll off to one side in silence.

Harry was almost afraid to speak. He lay waiting for Snape to say something, wincing a little. His arse was sore, but the thought that his inadvertent confession might have been more than Snape wanted to hear hurt more.

Snape's breathing quieted, but he lay without a word, without even moving, the edges of their bodies barely touching, Harry had nearly dozed off when Snape finally spoke, his words almost inaudible.

"You are more than I deserve."

Before Harry pulled himself awake enough to react, Snape had slid from the bed and disappeared to his own room.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was intended to be a teenyfic for dementordelta, as cruisedirector requested for her Snarry with the prompt "I will if you will." It took on an unexpected life of its own and merged with this story, however. The title is from the song "Fortress Around Your Heart" by Sting.


	7. Extraordinary Rains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets a letter, finds a photograph, and tries to give Severus what he needs.

Harry had, as usual, failed to put on his slippers that morning, and so he was standing in his dressing down and shifting from foot to foot on the cold linoleum waiting for the kettle to boil when he heard the unmistakable tap of an owl's beak at the window. He swore under his breath, but opened it to let Pigwidgeon hop in. The tiny owl hooted excitedly and circled the room at full speed twice before Harry could coax him to land with an Owl Treat.

He should have known, he thought as he untied the letter from Pigwidgeon's leg and recognized Hermione's handwriting. Snape had spelled all of the doors and windows of Grimmauld Place so that no one but themselves could get in for a few days, and they had also temporarily cut off the connection to the Floo Network, but the Owl Post always got through. At least it wasn't a Howler, just an ordinary letter.

The kettle boiled and Harry filled the teapot. It could steep while he read.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I know that you told Ron last year that you thought you might be gay, but I have to say I never expected to hear anything like this. You and Professor Snape were always at such loggerheads at school; yes, I know that you worked together against Voldemort at the end, but I would have sworn that was only from necessity, on both your sides. He certainly never was pleasant to you in strategic meetings. So I'm sorry, Harry, but I'm finding this very difficult to understand. How did you go from disliking him to being his lover in the space of a month?_

 _I won't insult either of you by saying that there must be a spell of some sort involved, and I won't say that you should judge from outward appearances, but have you really thought about what you're doing? You're not even twenty yet. That's awfully young to decide on your sexuality, much less who you want to be with in a serious relationship. You know how much I care about you; I don't want to see you get hurt by trying for something impossible, although of course if this is what will make you happy then that's what you should do._

 _Ron is – well, he's distinctly unenthusiastic, as I expect you guessed. You were probably right not to want to talk to him about it for a few days, because it's going to take at least that long before he stops muttering under his breath and shaking his head. He is convinced that Professor Snape must have put some kind of spell on you, or that it's some aftereffect of a Death Eater curse. Even though the Weasleys have never subscribed to any of that silliness about pure blood, Ron does seem deep down to think that every wizard and witch ought to get married and have magical babies, and I think that bothers him as much as who it is in your case. (I'm going to have to talk with him about this baby thing. I like Mrs. Weasley very much but I have no intention of having seven children, no matter what Ron says.)_

 _If you could write again and perhaps explain more why it's Professor Snape that you're living with, and not someone nearer your own age, who you might have more in common with, I would be very relieved. I'm a little worried that you're seeing him as some kind of father figure, because that would be a very bad dynamic in a romantic relationship._

 _Ron is telling me to say that he thinks you're absolutely barmy. I don't think he really means it, but you've definitely given us both a shock with this news. Instead of writing back, perhaps it would be better if you came to visit (alone) and the three of us could talk, later this week sometime?_

 _Love, Hermione_

Harry folded the two pages of the letter and sighed. It was more or less as he had expected; Ron upset and angry, Hermione also upset but trying to be calm end practical. He supposed he would have to go and see her and Ron in person, but he thought he might wait a little while longer. Not too long, though, because eventually they'd have to unspell Grimmauld Place and he didn't want to have his friends barging in on him here.

"No reply just now, Pig," he told the owl, and opened the window to let him fly back to Ron. The creak of boards in the hallway alerted him to Snape's presence, and he said without turning his head, "I made tea if you want some."

"Thank you." Snape poured himself a cup and sat down at the table across from Harry's place. "I see that we both managed to forget the possibility of letters in reply."

"Yeah." Harry hesitated, and then pushed Hermione's letter across the scarred wood for Snape to read. He sat down again and waited.

"Much as I expected," said Snape when he had finished reading. He took a sip of his tea and passed the letter back to Harry. "May I presume that you intend to meet with Miss Granger and Mister Weasley soon, then?"

Harry nodded. "I'm not sure that I can explain it any better than I already have, though. Why it is I want to be with you, I mean." He stood up and moved over to the stove. "Boiled eggs this morning?"

For some reason Harry didn't mind cooking for himself and Snape as he'd always minded doing it for the Dursleys. He didn't attempt anything terribly complicated, of course, but he found a certain satisfaction in being able to feed them both without needing to use magic. Snape seemed appreciative of Harry's efforts too; he always thanked him, and the day that Harry had become distracted and let the potatoes scorch, Snape had eaten them without a complaint until Harry, noticing his expression, tasted them himself and realized how awful they were.

Sitting over boiled eggs and toast a little while later, Harry ventured to ask, "Did you sleep all right?"

"Fine, Harry." Snape's response was the same as it was every morning. He didn't look all that fine, Harry thought. It was over a month since Voldemort's demise, yet Snape appeared even more gaunt and exhausted than he had when they were undertaking their last dangerous mission together.

"You do still look tired," Harry said, earning a glare from across the table.

They ate for awhile in silence before Harry broke it again. "Have you heard anything back from Professor McGonagall?" He was fairly certain that Snape had not – he would have seen an owl – but he wanted to hear what Snape had to say.

Snape sipped at his tea and shook his head. "I did not expect to. Minerva has far more important matters to be concerned about than my personal life."

Harry watched Snape eat for awhile. He was economical in his movements and abstemious in his habits, scraping only a minuscule amount of butter over his toast, fastidiously shaking the crumbs from his fingers. No wonder that he was still so thin.

"What is it?" Snape asked finally, returning Harry's stare. Harry shrugged.

"Nothing. I wondered what we might do today, that's all."

"I need to get the last of my books. There are quite a few remaining at Spinner's End; it would be faster with two people packing, if you wished to assist me."

"Of course," Harry replied. He stood up and carried their dirty plates over to the sink, pulling out his wand and casting a scouring charm to start the washing up. He might not take magical shortcuts with preparing food, but clearing up afterward was another matter altogether.

When they arrived at Spinner's End, Harry understood why Snape had said that the task would be easier with two: there were hundreds of books lining the walls.

"What would you like me to do?"

"If you'll go upstairs," Snape pointed, "and bring down the trunk that you will find in the second room to the left, I will begin shrinking these for transport."

As Harry climbed the stairs he could hear Snape behind him, casting _Reducio_. The trunk was precisely where Snape had said it would be. Harry levitated it to float behind him and had turned and was about to leave the room again when he saw something on the floor, one corner of a curl of paper just sticking out from behind the dresser. He leaned down to pick it up, flattening it to see what it might be.

Two young faces looked out at him. It was a Muggle snapshot in black and white and fading brown with age, but nevertheless Harry was certain that the boy was Severus Snape. He looked more closely at the other figure and his breath caught. She was far younger than in any other image he had ever seen, but surely that was his mother?

Harry swallowed. Holding the picture as though it were fragile, he went back downstairs, the trunk trailing behind him and bumping every step.

"There you are." Snape had already reduced the books on three shelves to the size of match boxes. "Put it here, please."

Harry didn't move, and Snape looked up, his face creased with irritation.

"Harry?"

Wordlessly Harry held the photograph out to him, his fingers trembling slightly.

Snape's expression flickered. Surprise and pain, pleasure and anger chased each other until at last it was regret that predominated as he reached to take the yellowed photograph, his hand no steadier than Harry's.

"It's my mother, isn't it." Harry made it a statement rather than a question. He had no doubt that he was right.

"Yes." Snape's voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and sat down in a dusty, threadbare armchair, staring at the picture. "She lived down the street when we were children. I haven't seen that in nearly thirty years."

Harry hovered irresolutely for a moment before kneeling down on the floor beside Snape. "How old were you?"

"Oh, seven or eight," Snape said absently, his eyes still roaming hungrily over the image. "Petunia had been given a camera for Christmas, and Lily teased her to take a picture of us."

Harry leaned his head against Snape's knee and waited as Snape continued to stare at the photograph. After a while, Snape's hand crept into his hair, stroking it, gradually tipping his head back so that he was gazing upward at Snape's face.

"Lily's eyes." Snape's voice was choked.

"I know." Both Remus and Sirius had told him that, and Hagrid, too. He took off his glasses and peered up at Snape. Without them, everything was blurred, but not so much that he couldn't see the movement of Snape's throat as he swallowed.

"She would have been so proud of you, Harry." With his free hand, Snape brushed Harry's cheek, his lips.

"Did you... did love her?" Harry asked, both needing and fearing the answer. Was Snape's feeling for Harry just as a connection to his mother?

"Love." Snape said the word as if it tasted strange on his tongue. "I don't know if what I felt could be called love. I would have called it that at the time, though I was never 'in love' with her, if that's what you want to know." He shook his head with a sigh and tucked the photograph into a pocket. "Put your glasses back on. I want to take all of these books today."

Harry scrambled to stand up, settling his glasses back on his nose and beginning to stack the shrunken books into the trunk as Snape began methodically to reduce those on the next shelf.

No one should be permitted to own so many books, Harry had decided hours later, wearily stacking the last of them and closing the trunk lid with a sharp snap. Snape looked as exhausted as Harry felt.

"Let's go home," Harry said, and Snape gave a tired nod.

"I'll take them," he told Harry, levitating the trunk so that he could grasp it with both hands. "You go ahead; I'll be there in a moment. Easier to Apparate separately with this."

"All right."

Harry concentrated and Apparated into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. He expected Snape to appear immediately, but it was nearly ten minutes, with Harry growing more anxious as they ticked by, before Snape Apparated into the room, the trunk with him.

"You didn't splinch yourself, did you?" Harry looked Snape over but saw nothing obviously wrong.

Snape let the trunk sink to the floor, then sat on its lid so hastily that he almost appeared to collapse.

"I'll make us a cup of tea," said Harry, and bustled around the kitchen to do so, trying not to look at Snape.

"Thank you," Snape said when Harry had brought him the steaming cup. He sipped at it, and a little color slowly seeped into his face.

"Maybe I should go fetch some takeaway for dinner." There was a decent fish and chip shop two streets away. After their hard work, Harry didn't much feel like cooking. "It will only take me a few minutes."

He touched Snape's shoulder, and Snape nodded. "Anything you like."

Harry dashed upstairs – he kept a little Muggle money in his bedroom – then hurried out to the shop, deciding that he was exceptionally hungry and perhaps Snape would be as well, and therefore ordering three large cod and chips and two mushy peas. As an afterthought he ordered another extra portion of chips; he'd discovered that reheating charms worked quite well on chips, and if they didn't eat everything tonight, they would do for lunch tomorrow.

Laden with his purchases in two carrier bags, Harry returned to find that Snape was still sitting on the trunk where he had left him.

"Severus." Harry had to repeat his name before Snape reacted. "Severus, dinner."

"What? Oh." Snape stood and crossed to the table as Harry began setting out the plates and dividing up the food.

"You do like fish, don't you? I didn't think to ask." Harry paused in rummaging around the cupboard for the vinegar to look over.

"Yes." One side of Snape's mouth curled up in a bitter, self-mocking sort of grin. "It was my favorite when I was young, in fact. We only had it as a great treat, though, because my father..."

"Your father what?" Harry put the bottle at Snape's elbow and took a seat.

Snape sprinkled vinegar lavishly over his chips, then picked one up and turned it around in his fingers before biting into it. "My father didn't believe in indulging me," he said when he had finished swallowing.

"Oh. Oh, I see." And Harry did. He bent over his plate, hastily taking a bite of fish to hide the pity he felt. Snape would hate to see that. He had a sudden image of the young Severus, as he was in the photograph, smiling happily as his mother set the meal on the table, and then the smile disappearing.

A thought struck him, and he spoke without considering the words.

"Did you... sleep badly as a child, too?"

Snape's knuckles whitened as he gripped his cutlery, but he answered, "You might say that." He sighed. "I do not wish to discuss it, as I believe I have told you before... but you're going to persist, aren't you?"

Harry shrugged, then nodded. He _did_ want to know.

"Very well." Snape sighed again. "I've no idea why my parents married, nor, since they patently did not get along, why they didn't later divorce or at least separate. I suppose they must have loved each other in some twisted way, or at any rate felt they needed each other, but my father resented my very existence and made no bones about saying so, and some of the time I think my mother did too."

He was talking rapidly, his voice so low that Harry had to strain to hear him.

"They fought over everything and nothing, shouted, sometimes came to blows. When they weren't fighting there were simmering oily silences, and I never knew when something would set off an explosion." He stopped, taking up his fork and using the edge of it to pick at the corner of his piece of cod until it flaked into tiny fragments.

"Did he hit you?" Harry finally asked into the long silence that followed.

Snape nodded curtly, just once. "He would come into my bedroom and wake me up – although I was rarely asleep, just pretending – and shout at me, slap me around. He was clever enough not to do anything that might leave visible marks, though, so no one except for my mother ever knew." Snape picked up his glass to take a drink, and it rattled against his teeth.

"I'm sorry." Harry felt inadequate, witnessing this old pain, and regretted a little that he had asked, although he was glad to understand better, too.

" It stood me in good stead when I want to Hogwarts, I suppose. I had learned to sleep lightly." Snape looked at Harry, his dark eyes unreadable. "You'll understand why sleep is no escape for me now, I think."

His throat tight, Harry nodded. He was no longer as hungry as he had thought, but ate anyway. They finished the meal in silence and Snape rose to clear up.

"I suppose you'll be going to see Miss Granger and Mister Weasley tomorrow or the next day?" He had his back to Harry, scraping the dishes.

"Maybe Friday." Harry bit at the skin beside his thumbnail. "I don't want to think about that right now. I want just to be with you for awhile, and if you're willing I want us to have sex however you like." It was the only comfort he felt he could offer. He rose and, walking up behind Snape, put his arms around the other man's waist and pressed his cheek against Snape's shoulder. It was no longer pity that he felt, but the warmer emotion of sympathy, and when Snape turned around, Harry had no fear of letting Snape use Legilimency to see that if he chose.

"And if I don't want?"

"Then we won't." Harry kissed Snape's stubbled cheek, then his lips briefly. "I can hardly complain that I haven't had enough sex lately, after all, and what I want is to be _with_ you, and do whatever I can to make you feel better." He paused, nuzzling at Snape's neck, and added in an undertone, "You saved me from having to kill Voldemort alone; really, it was you who dealt the final blow, and I couldn't have done it without you. If I had, I'd probably be having nightmares for the rest of my life. I owe you."

"You owe me nothing." Snape's voice was hoarse but insistent, and he tugged at Harry's hair to make him look up. " _Nothing_ , do you hear me? You have no obligation to me whatsoever, and if this entire arrangement is meant to expiate some sense of duty on your part..."

"No. No, Severus." Harry was equally firm. "You know that's not true. There might have been a bit of that to begin with, but remember that I offered myself to you even before we faced Voldemort together. I wouldn't lie to you, I don't want to, and I couldn't, anyway, not without you knowing." He smiled wryly. "You already know most of the worst about me, I think, but you're here with me anyway. I want to do the same for you... if you'll let me."

Snape's arms tightened around Harry, but he didn't say anything more just then, only drew Harry with him upstairs to Harry's bedroom.

"What do you want me to do?" Harry whispered between kisses when they were both naked and sprawled out on the bed. "Anything."

"I..." Snape shook his head. "I want you to do whatever you wish, Harry. The offer means more to me than any particular action could."

"All right, then." Harry sat up. "Just lie on your back, and relax."

Snape did so, propping himself up a little against the pillows. Harry took up a position kneeling with one knee to either side of Snape's legs, openly eyeing Snape's body. As his gaze traveled along Snape's bony torso where he could count every rib under the sallow skin, the tufts of black hair doing nothing to conceal them, then down to Snape's groin where his cock lay still flaccid, Harry curled his fingers around his own swelling cock, pumping it. He wanted to say something about how Snape turned him on, felt embarrassed about doing so, then realized that the feeling was foolish. It was obvious to them both, and there was no reason why he should hesitate.

"I love being with you," he began. "I don't care if you're older, or scarred, or not handsome. You make me feel safe; you know my flaws and yet somehow they don't matter, any more than yours matter to me. When you touch me it's like nothing else; I want you in every way I can think of, around me or inside me, as long as it's you."

His cock was very hard now, but he didn't want to come yet, so he stopped touching himself and sat back on his heels, leaning forward to get his tongue into Snape's navel and follow the trail of hair down to Snape's prick, which had stiffened as Snape watched Harry wank himself. It was musky and pungent as Harry nuzzled and licked, filling his senses with the smell and taste. Harry braced himself on his left arm and used his right hand to cup Snape's bollocks, feeling their shape. Snape groaned softly and pressed his legs outward against Harry's, evidently wanting to spread them wider. Harry let go of Snape's cock and shifted so that he was kneeling between Snape's thighs, then bending down to resume what he had been doing.

He brought his mouth to Snape's cock once more, then hesitated. There was something he wanted to try, but...

"Will you turn over? Pull your knees up under you?"

Snape was staring down at him as if he knew what Harry meant to do. When Snape said neutrally, as he turned as requested, "You'll want to use a cleansing charm first," Harry had no doubt.

Nervously he spoke the charm. He put his hands on the cheeks of Snape's arse, pulling them slightly apart, and then touched his tongue to the end of Snape's spine, drawing it downward slowly, feeling the texture change as he reached the puckered entrance. Snape made a soft noise and shifted under Harry's hands, his arsehole quivering. The cleansing charm had done its work; there was nothing offensive in the taste, just Snape himself. Harry adjusted his grip so that he could brush the backs of Snape's bollocks with his thumbs, feeling them move within their sac. He lapped over the twitching hole a few times before pointing his tongue and pushing it against the opening, delighted when he felt it relax enough to let him inside, into the tight heat.

"Harry..." Snape's voice was muffled, but Harry recognized the need in it. He licked again, pushing his tongue in as deep as he could manage and wriggling it a bit. Snape was canting his hips back towards Harry, urging him on as Harry licked and sucked. He tried letting go of Snape's arse with one hand, wanting to stroke Snape's cock, but that made it too difficult to breathe. Snape seemed to recognize the problem, however, and reached back to hold himself open for Harry. Harry wet his fingers in the saliva that had trickled down to Snape's balls, rubbing it on Snape's cock, which pulsed hot and heavy in his hand. Snape grunted when Harry began to pump him, warning, "Almost there." Harry picked up the pace of his stroke, pulled out his tongue to flicker it around the loosened muscle, and plunged back in just as Snape's prick began to quiver. His arsehole clenched around Harry's tongue as he came into Harry's hand.

When the sticky spurts had ceased, Harry gave Snape's cock one last long stroke and sat up, wiping the moisture off his chin with his forearm. Snape was still half-collapsed on the bed with his arse up in the air, and Harry began to fist himself, unable to wait any longer for his own orgasm.

"Go ahead and fuck me." The words were a little muffled, but clear enough.

Harry leaned over to reach for the lube on the bedside table. Snape interrupted him.

"Don't bother with that."

Harry nodded, although he knew Snape couldn't see him, and put the head of his cock against Snape's arsehole. It felt very tight and almost rough as he pushed in, and he worried that he was hurting Snape, but he couldn't hold back, not with Snape urging him on. He'd waited so long that it took only half a dozen thrusts before he threw back his head and came, the orgasm moving through him, a shuddering that began at the soles of his feet and moved right through to the crown of his head. Panting and trembling, he collapsed across Snape's back when it was over, and felt Snape roll them both over onto their sides.

After a few moments Harry had recovered enough to pull out and ask anxiously, "Are you all right? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"You gave me exactly what I wanted," was Snape's reply, not entirely reassuring, but for now Harry let it go and simply held Snape close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from Plutarch's _Life of Caius Marius_ : "Extraordinary rains pretty generally fall after great battles."


	8. Not Time's Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After talking with Hermione and Ron, Harry's feelings towards Severus are unchanged.

"I just don't understand," said Ron again. Harry had stopped counting how many times he had said it somewhere around the eighth. Even Hermione was beginning to look exasperated.

"It doesn't really matter, does it?" she burst out. "It's just a fact."

"Yes, but... _Snape_." Ron shuddered. "I mean, it's hard enough to think of you fancying blokes, Harry, I have to say, but this is just plain bizarre."

Harry shrugged and took a bite of ice cream. "I wish you could be happy for me, Ron."

"I am, mate, I am really," said Ron hastily. "It's just..." he shook his head. "Why?"

"Because..." Harry licked his lips. "Because he's almost the only person I don't have to pretend with, who can look at me and see just _Harry_ and nothing more. Besides him, there's you two." He summoned a grin. "And don't say you'd rather have me fancying Hermione, Ron, because you know that's not true."

"Ginny," Ron began, but Hermione shook her head.

"You're right, Harry. There may not be anyone else."

"But you have loads of time ahead of you. You don't need to settle down with someone right away," said Ron.

Harry laughed at him. "Like you and Hermione aren't? You may not be getting married immediately, but that doesn't mean you're not serious about each other. Why shouldn't the two of _you_ do the sort of looking at other options that you're suggesting I ought to?"

"That's different," Ron huffed.

"No, it isn't," said Harry.

"He _is_ a lot older than you are, though," said Hermione, her eyes worried. "Doesn't that bother you at all? I mean, he's the same age as your parents were."

"I know that. But if he were younger, he'd be a different person; he wouldn't be Severus," Harry tried to explain, feeling hopelessly inept at putting what he sensed into words. "I think it's good for me that he's older, and good for _him_ that I'm not. And before you get all worked up about it, Hermione, maybe I should say that it was my idea in the first place, and _I_ persuaded _him_ , not the other way around. Up until the final attack he never tried to take any advantage of me at all."

"I didn't think he would have," protested Hermione.

"I might've thought so," Ron muttered.

Hermione ignored him and continued, "I mean, I thought he was horrible to you as a teacher, but I never thought he did anything that he shouldn't."

"He didn't." Harry let the words fall softly. "I don't know what's going to happen, whether we'll stay together for a week or a year or the rest of our lives, any more than anyone does, but this is the right thing for me now, and I hope you can understand that."

"Of course, Harry, if you're sure," said Hermione, and Ron nodded in reluctant agreement.

Harry had finished eating, and so had the other two. Suddenly he was ready for a change of scene. He pushed back his chair and stood up. "Want to walk around Diagon Alley a while?" he suggested. He had told Severus only that he would be home for dinner, not specifying a time.

"Sure," said Ron.

They browsed through several of the shops. Harry picked up a tin of Owl Treats for Hedwig, and some broom polish. He also had seventeen people ask him for his autograph, interrupting his conversation with Ron and Hermione repeatedly. By the end of the afternoon he suspected that even Ron was beginning to get an idea of why Harry might be happier to be involved with someone who would never think of him as a hero that way.

Nevertheless, it was a relief to return to Grimmauld Place at the end of the afternoon.

"I presume that your conversation with Miss Granger and Mister Weasley went well?" Severus asked, looking up from the potions journal he was reading. Dark circles under his eyes made him look exhausted.

Harry took off his shoes and curled up at the opposite end of the sofa to the one where Severus was sitting, tucking his feet under him. "It went all right. Better for being the two of them at once; Hermione likes to be the voice of reason, in public at any rate."

The corner of Severus's mouth quirked up. "Yes, she does," he agreed. "From which I deduce that Mister Weasley was more difficult to persuade that I am not some cradle robber casting Confundus charms to snare you, all unwary."

Harry laughed. "He wasn't quite that bad. I think by the end he understood a little bit."

"Good." Severus carefully marked his page and put the journal aside. "I had a letter from Minerva today, incidentally."

"And?" Harry prompted.

Severus shrugged. "She wanted to know if my future plans might involve a return to Hogwarts."

" _Severus_ ," said Harry in exasperation. "Didn't she say anything about the fact that you and I are living together?"

"What could she say?" Severus gave the smallest of indifferent shrugs. "Every argument or reason she might set out as to why I should reconsider, she knows I will have already thought of for myself. And it is far too late to warn me of the perils and pitfalls." He shook his head. "Never mind about that. It's nearly dinnertime, unless you've spoiled your appetite eating sweets all afternoon."

"I wouldn't dare; Dobby would forgive me, but I don't know about Kreacher." He untucked his feet and stretched his legs out until his toes touched Severus's knee.

Severus patted him briefly, a mere brush against the ankle. "I think he might."

When Severus's fingers dropped away, Harry swallowed. "After dinner... can we talk?"

"We are talking now," Severus pointed out, "and we can continue to do so while we eat."

"I'd rather not be distracted." Harry felt the blood rush to his face. "I'm not, that is, it's about sex. No, it's not really. Um. Never mind," he ended, furious with himself.

Severus gave Harry a penetrating look, although Harry was fairly certain he wasn't using Legilimency. "Clearly you have something on your mind, so I suppose we had better discuss it in whatever way makes you comfortable to do so."

Dinner was a silent affair that night; the two house-elves – well, Dobby anyhow – spoke more than either Harry or Severus did. Harry was trying to decide how to put what he wanted to say, and Severus seemed willing to let him think quietly. It was not until afterward, back on the sofa, feeling the rough-slickness of the worn purple damask fabric against his palm that Harry gathered his courage and spoke.

"I promised that I would do whatever you wanted, Severus."

"Yes, you did." Severus's voice was unpromisingly uncompromising. "Are you saying you wish to rescind our agreement?"

"No." Harry took a deep breath. "But I want to know how you understand it. What I offered you."

"You said you would give me anything I demanded," Severus said, his voice rough. "I asked if you were certain that you wanted to do that, and you said yes, as long as I treated you as a person, and not a hero. I do not see how that is susceptible to much interpretation."

"What if, for instance, there was something you didn't like me doing – I don't know, cracking my knuckles a lot for instance – but you hadn't specifically asked me not to do it? Would that be breaking my word to you?"

Harry had been leaning against Severus, one of Severus's arms around him. Now Severus grasped Harry's shoulder and pushed him away, not ungently, but enough so that Harry would turn to look at him.

"What are you planning to do, Harry?"

"Nothing." Harry knew his shrug was too casual. "I was just wondering."

Severus's eyebrows drew together, but all he said was, "If you say so."

Harry wriggled his way back into Severus's embrace, resting his head against Severus's bony chest. He could smell the bitter herbal scent that he had learned to associate with Severus. "What is it that makes that smell?"

"What smell?"

"You. Not _you_ , I don't know, it's something like plants." Harry nuzzled Severus on the neck. "It isn't shampoo or soap or anything like that, because I know you've been using the same stuff I have in the bath. You haven't been brewing potions, so it can't be that either."

"I keep sachets with my clothes." Severus sounded embarrassed. "To prevent moths and so forth. I didn't realize anyone could smell that."

"I like it, actually," said Harry. "It's kind of bitter, but it suits you." He tilted his head up to meet Severus's dark eyes, and smiled with as much impudence as he could muster. "You know I like bitter," he added, flicking a glance at Severus's crotch.

Severus rolled his eyes and humphed but seemed pleased, and Harry took advantage of that to crawl into Severus's lap completely and kiss him until they were both breathless and rocking together.

"Please," Harry whispered. "I need you. Now." He hadn't said "I love you" since the first time, when Severus had demanded to know if he meant it.

With only a tightening of his embrace as warning, Severus Apparated them directly to Harry's room, onto the bed, and rolled over to pin Harry beneath him, muttering another spell that whisked their clothing away and then repeating Harry's name over and over again as he took him, leaving Harry drowsy and spent afterward. When Severus left Harry alone to return to his own room, Harry did not protest as he had done on previous nights.

He had other plans.

Perhaps an hour after Severus had gone, Harry felt Dobby tap him on the shoulder.

"Harry Potter! Dobby is waking Harry as Harry Potter has asked him to do!"

"Thanks, Dobby." Harry gave an enormous yawn and sat up. "I'm awake, thanks. I'll see you at breakfast."

Dobby bowed and grinned and popped himself out of Harry's room again. Harry rubbed his eyes and stood, pulling on his pyjama bottoms. He slipped quietly down the hallway and paused outside Severus's room.

There was no light visible under the doorway, and when Harry put his ear to the door, he could hear soft snores. He turned the knob cautiously and went in.

Severus was curled up, except for one arm that was flung out out so that his hand poked out from under the sheet and dangled over the edge of the mattress. Harry went around to the other side and eased himself under the covers, slowly, slowly, taking care not to jostle the bed and wake Severus. He would have liked to nestle closer, but didn't dare, not yet. He closed his eyes and relaxed into sleep.

He wasn't sure how long it was before he woke again, with Severus thrashing and moaning and pulling the sheets off Harry in a sweaty tangle.

"Severus, sh, it's all right."

Harry forgot everything except wanting to help Severus wake up from his nightmare. He reached out to stroke Severus's shoulder, trying to soothe him, but when he did Severus seized his hand in a crushing grip and he saw Severus's eyes glitter in the dim moonlight that filtered through the curtains.

"What are you doing?" came Severus's voice, its usual rich timbre harsh, more like the Professor Snape who had taught Harry at Hogwarts than the Severus he had come to know more recently.

 _Thought_ he had come to know.

"I believed I had made it plain that I wish to sleep alone. _Leave_ , Harry."

The words hung dead in the air.

"Severus – " Harry had gotten no farther when Severus cut him off.

"I should have known from what you said earlier that you would try some such foolishness as this." He spoke dryly, coldly, for a man but a few moments awakened from a nightmare. "I meant what I said. Leave me. Now, please."

"No," said Harry stubbornly. "I want to help you."

"Harry..." Severus's fingers were still clenched around Harry's wrist, so tightly Harry thought they might bruise him. "This is not something with which you can help. Leave me to deal with it in my own way."

"But it's not working," Harry argued. "I can tell you aren't sleeping, you're hardly eating, you look worse now than the day we faced Voldemort. Maybe if I stay with you it would make you, I don't know, rest easier..." He trailed off.

"Rest easier?" Severus said skeptically. "I rather doubt that. Thirty-odd years of disturbed slumber are not likely to be cast aside overnight because you share a bed with me."

"Can it hurt to try? Please, please let me stay." Harry knew that he was begging and he didn't care. He wanted to be with Severus, not sent back down the hall to his own room like a naughty child.

Severus pressed his eyes with the heel of the hand not grasping Harry's wrist. "You don't understand."

"Maybe I don't, but I can't, I never will if you don't explain. Severus, I just want to do whatever I can to make you not hurt so badly." Harry paused, pondering what he knew, both what Snape had told him and what he had observed over the past weeks. "You kept me from having to kill; if I'd killed Voldemort, I'd probably have nightmares worse than yours, reliving that moment. There's no way I can make that up to you, not really, but I want to try. _Please_ let me, let me stay with you."

Severus sighed and was silent for so long that Harry almost opened his mouth to plead with him again, but he didn't, waiting instead.

"All right, Harry. Stay. For all the good it will do either of us." He let go of Harry's wrist and turned away, curling up in a stiff ball, his back presenting a resolute barrier.

Harry ignored that and pressed himself close. "Thank you." He stroked Severus's shoulder, all he could reach properly, until his eyelids started to droop. Then he let his arm drop softly over Severus's waist.

He had thought he wouldn't say it again until Severus did, but he whispered against Severus's spine, just before he nodded off, "I love you, Severus. Please let me love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to dementordelta for the bunny!


	9. Shall Reason Prevail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Hermione helps them sort out Severus's books, Harry is dismayed by a suggestion his lover makes.

Although Severus now let Harry sleep in his bed -- sometimes, grudgingly -- he was unwilling to stay all night in Harry's, and he made it quite clear that he still would far prefer to sleep alone.

Moreover he took to _watching_ Harry. Nothing obvious, but almost any time that Harry happened to glance at him, Severus was gazing back, with an expression that Harry found hard to decipher. They spent most of their time in each other's company; Severus had unshrunk all the things he had brought from Spinner's End, and Harry had offered to help him sort them out and find room on the shelves of the library at Grimmauld Place for all of Severus's books. Severus decided that they should reorganise the entire collection while they were at it. Harry thought ruefully that this activity was much more in Hermione's line than in his own, but when he suggested that Severus ask her if she'd like to help, Severus's response was a scowl and shake of the head.

"I am perfectly capable of putting books in order," he said tartly. "I do not require Miss Granger's help."

"It would go faster with three," Harry pointed out.

Severus raised his eyebrows. "Are you so terribly anxious to finish this?"

"Not especially." Under his breath, Harry added, "It just isn't very interesting."

Evidently Severus heard the comment, however, for he sighed and said, "Go ahead and owl Miss Granger, then, if you wish."

Harry wasn't sure why Severus was so reluctant to ask for Hermione's help, but since he _had_ agreed to it, Harry sent a note off that evening, explaining that they were going through the Black family library, and would Hermione be interested in helping reorganise it?

She sent an immediate and enthusiastic reply and turned up the next day, looking eager. "Good morning, Harry. Thank you for this chance; when the Order was meeting here, Mrs Weasley never seemed to want to let me look over the books, I'm not sure why, so I'm really pleased to be able to now. Good morning, Professor Snape," she said to Severus, who had just entered the kitchen and was pouring himself a cup of tea.

"I'm no longer your professor," said Severus in a weary voice. "I suppose you might as well call me Severus, since Harry does."

Hermione's eyes went wide, but she said, " Yes, S-Severus." Harry could see her lips moving, as if practising the name silently to herself.

"Tea?" Harry offered.

After they had each finished a cup of tea, they adjourned to the library, where Severus explained what he was doing. Each bookcase had been tentatively assigned a broad subject area or two, and they were going through the shelves, carefully wiping each book clean and then moving it to a pile in front of the appropriate bookcase. Progress had been slow for two reasons; the sheer size of the collection, and the fact that both of them, but especially Severus, frequently stopped to page through the book he was cleaning or sorting and would become distracted for a quarter of an hour or more. Hermione, too, was susceptible to such distractions, but a third pair of hands would speed things up somewhat, and anyhow, half the reason that Harry had wanted to ask for her help was simply that he thought she would appreciate seeing what books were there.

The day passed quickly, with a pause for sandwiches about one o'clock, which Hermione fetched from a Muggle shop. She left that evening with a promise to come back early the following day.

Harry curled close to Severus on the sofa that night. Severus's body was stiff.

"Are you angry with me about something?" Harry asked. "You've been behaving oddly all day."

"Was I not perfectly polite to Miss Granger?"

"Yes, the four or five times you actually spoke to her."

Severus shrugged. "I had nothing much to say." But he still held himself rigid against Harry's embrace.

"Look, Severus." Harry sighed. "If it bothers you this much to have Hermione here, I'll ask her not to come back after tomorrow, but it's the sort of thing that interests her and I thought she would appreciate the chance to see all these books, maybe borrow a few if she wanted. If it's going to upset you, though, she doesn't need to come."

Severus sighed too. "No, it's all right." He picked up one of the books he had been leafing through earlier that day. "I would like to read now for a while."

Harry swallowed and moved away. "Fine." Nothing he had come across sounded appealing right now, but he could always look at today's _Daily Prophet_ or the latest issue of _Which Broomstick_ , he supposed.

The next day passed in a similar fashion, although Severus seemed to Harry to be making more of an effort to speak to Hermione from time to time, even addressing her by her Christian name once. Harry himself did all he could do and say to show Hermione that he was happy with Severus and comfortable around him, to the point of bowing his head and saying nothing when Severus snapped at him for knocking several books off a high shelf and causing the pages to crumple.

His efforts backfired, though, for when he and Hermione took a break to make tea in midafternoon, leaving Severus in the library, Hermione shook her head at him worriedly.

"What is it?" Harry asked as he shook a few ginger biscuits onto a plate, paused, and added a few more.

"You're not acting like your usual self, Harry. I don't mean that I think like Ron does that Snape enchanted you," she added hastily. "But you don't seem as if you can say what you feel around him. Are you _sure_ that this is really what you want?"

"Yes," Harry said it quietly but firmly. He didn't feel like explaining to Hermione the precise nature of his offer to Severus; besides, Severus would release him from it if Harry asked, of that he had no doubt.

"But..." began Hermione, then stopped, looking closely at Harry. "All right. I suppose there's nothing I can do to persuade you to reconsider this, but if you ever _do_ want to talk about it, I'd be happy to listen. I only want you to be happy, you know."

"I know. And I _am_ happy, or at the least as happy as I think I can be just now, given everything that's happened in the past several years."

The kettle boiled and Hermione rinsed out the teapot quickly, then set the tea to brew while Harry took the milk out of the fridge and put that and the sugar bowl on a tray.

"One more day's work should do it, I think," said Severus with satisfaction after tea.

"I'll come back again tomorrow, then, if I may?" said Hermione.

"Of course," said Harry before Severus had a chance to speak.

The following afternoon when they had finally finished sorting and reshelving everything, Severus, with a sourly resigned expression, thanked Hermione for her help and told her that she was welcome to borrow anything she liked.

"Thank you very much. There _are_ a few books I would appreciate having the chance to read," said Hermione. "I'll come back and find them another day; I told Ron I'd meet him at six, so I don't have time now." She hesitated, then held out her hand to Severus, who also hesitated before shaking it in a formal manner.

Then Hermione turned to Harry and kissed him on the cheek. "Send me an owl in the next week or two and we can go have lunch or tea or something."

Harry nodded. "Tell Ron hello and that I'll see him soon."

As Hermione left, Harry turned to speak to Severus, but he was no longer there. Puzzled, Harry went looking for him. Severus was not in the front hall, nor on his usual sofa, nor in the kitchen. Upstairs the door to the bathroom was open, the room empty. Harry stopped outside Severus's bedroom. He tapped at the door, which swung open a few inches to reveal Severus sitting on his bed, shoulders slumped, facing away from Harry.

"Severus? What's wrong?"

Severus shook his head but made no reply.

"Look, is this something to do with Hermione again? She won't be underfoot any more, now that we've finished organising everything," Harry pointed out.

Again Severus shook his head.

Harry didn't quite know what to do. Clearly Severus was not in the mood to talk, but something about his posture made Harry not want to leave him alone, so instead he perched on the edge of the bed and stroked Severus's lank dark hair. After a few moments he moved to sit crosslegged behind Severus and began rubbing his neck and shoulders. Severus relaxed only minutely under the caresses, but that was good enough for Harry to feel that it was worthwhile.

At last, with Harry's hands and wrists tiring from the unaccustomed effort, Severus spoke.

"Perhaps I should leave."

"What? No," said Harry, dismayed. "We've just brought all of your things here and settled them all nicely. Why would you want to leave?"

"It's no good. I'm too old for you, too damaged. I'm a _murderer_ , Harry. Don't forget that. You deserve someone better than I am."

" _No_ ," repeated Harry vehemently. "That's rubbish, Severus. If you're talking about Voldemort, that wasn't murder, that was war -- and _you_ did it so it _I_ wouldn't have to. We've been over this before. You'd have my gratitude for that if for no other reason."

"Your gratitude isn't enough for this to last," said Severus softly. "It will become resentment soon enough. I would prefer not to reach that point."

Now Harry was angry. "It's _not_ just gratitude, and you should know that. If you're damaged, well, don't you think I am, too, from all that I've seen and done over the past years? Don't assume that that you know everything about how I feel, even if you do understand me better than anyone else, even Hermione or Ron." He paused, swallowed, and said flatly, "I love you, and I thought that you felt something for me, too."

Severus's breathing was harsh. "Don't you see, that's _why_ I should leave, before you convince yourself that I'm all that you deserve? You would be better off with someone like Miss Granger or Mr Weasley."

"Hermione and Ron are a couple, you know that, and anyway, they're only my friends; best friends, yes, but Severus, I don't feel about anyone else, not _anyone_ , the way I feel about you. What do I have to do to convince you? If you used Legilimency to see that I'm not lying, would that reassure you?"

"I explained to you when I was trying to teach you Occlumency that to be a Legilimens is not to be a mind reader," said Severus.

"Yes, I remember, but I know that you can certainly tell if I'm lying." Harry bit his lip and added, "That was always one of Voldemort's strengths, after all, that with his skill at Legilimency he could ensure that his followers were obeying, because he would know if they didn't and lied about it."

"Harry..." Severus closed his eyes wearily, then reopened them. "I don't doubt that you're telling the truth about how you feel. It doesn't mean that following those feelings is the right thing for you to do."

"Well, what else _is_ there?" Harry demanded. "Look. Being with you, it's the best thing for me, I'm absolutely sure of that. If I have nightmares about Voldemort, you understand. You're not going to try to fix me so I don't have them, the way that someone like Hermione or Ron or any of my other friends would. And I can do the same for you, if you'll let me. I can't promise that things will be perfect. We both know they won't always be. I can't promise that something won't happen someday in the future that changes everything, either. I was never that good at Divination."

Severus gave a soft snort, and Harry took hope from that sound of amusement.

"I'm scared too that things won't work out between us, but that doesn't mean I don't want to try. It's not fair to either of us not to give ourselves a chance." Then Harry went for what he hoped might be his trump card. "Don't you think that my mum would have wanted you to be happy, if you had a chance?"

"I rather doubt that Lily would have ever expected me to be trying to find happiness with her baby boy," said Severus in his driest voice.

"Bugger that." Harry began taking off his clothes, until he stood naked in front of Severus. "I'm Lily's son, but I'm no baby any more; I'm fully of age by both wizarding and Muggle law, and if _you're_ who _I_ want, and _I'm_ who _you_ want -- and you've certainly _acted_ as if you want me -- then there is no reason for you to keep dwelling on the difference in our ages. That's really no more important than the colour of my eyes or what shoe size I wear when it comes right down to it. Don't you think that I've lived through enough that I might be ready to make decisions for myself about the rest of my life?"

There was a faint colour in Severus's sallow cheeks. He reached out and ran his hand over Harry's hip. "You've proven admirably that you're no infant, I'll agree to that."

"All right then." Harry stepped closer and put his hands on Severus's shoulders. "How about I prove it to you again, just to reassure you on that point?" He grinned at Severus, who gave a grudging smile in return.

"Persistent brat."

"That's right," agreed Harry, " but I'm _your_ persistent brat, and I'm planning to be very persistent about this."

He unbuttoned Severus's robes first, then unlaced and pulled off his shoes, until Severus was as bare as he was. Then Harry gave him a long deliberate look, starting at his bony toes and progressing upward past his scrawny torso to his beaky nose. "Yes, _that's_ what I want," he murmured.

Severus shook his head. "I wish there were some way to ask your mother if she dropped you on your head as an infant. You exhibit a woeful lack of taste."

"Are you objecting?" Harry pushed Severus back against the mattress and began to lick a trail down his body.

"I don't think I can," admitted Severus as Harry took his cock into his mouth and began to suck. Severus groaned. His hand drifted down to tangle in Harry's hair.

"Good," Harry pulled off long enough to say, before diving once again into the thatch at Severus's groin.

"Turn around, Harry." Severus tapped his shoulder.

"What? Oh," said Harry as he realised what Severus meant and shifted so that his own cock could be sucked in return.

It had been several days since they had had sex, and Harry was eager, although he found it quite distracting to have Severus's tongue working him over while Harry was trying to do the same. A distant part of his mind thought that it was a bit like being a Seeker, trying to stay on one's broom and catch the Snitch simultaneously. Well, Harry had always been up to _that_ challenge, and he supposed he could manage this one... although he was rather glad he didn't have an audience for it.

Severus's tongue was warm and wet and loving as he lapped at Harry, but it was when he took Harry's cock deep into his throat and hummed that Harry came, retaining just enough control to let Severus's prick slip from his mouth lest he bite him accidentally. Panting with the aftershocks, Harry took up his self-appointed task once again, and soon had Severus grunting as his semen pulsed into Harry's waiting mouth.

Harry wanted to stay in Severus's bed that night, but Severus refused, saying that he would rest better alone.

Back in his own room, though, Harry found it difficult to fall asleep. He tossed and turned until the bedclothes were bunched into a giant ball and he had to get out of the bed, shivering on the cold floor, to smooth them out again. Their lovemaking that night aside, Severus's behaviour over the past few days puzzled him. It was almost as if Severus -- Harry frowned -- maybe not _hoped_ that Harry would leave him, but _expected_ it to happen. Which was of course ridiculous; Harry had both told Severus and showed him over and over that he had no intention of doing that. Yet it was the only explanation that seemed to fit, unless... unless it was that _Severus_ planned to leave? Although if that were the case then why would he have agreed to move all of his things into Grimmauld Place?

Confused thoughts streamed through Harry's head, first one scenario and then another playing out in his mind, but he was unable to decide which was the most likely. It was not until he resolved to ask Severus flat out what was going on, if not tomorrow then soon, that he was able to slow his churning thoughts enough to relax into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nod to alisanne for helping prod me to finally make the edits and post this.


	10. Strike a New Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus's decision to return to teaching does not make Harry happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For cruisedirector who asked for Snape. Also written for quill-it prompt 85, "wash".

"I must go to Diagon Alley today," said Snape over toast the next morning. His expression suggested anything but pleasure at the idea.

"Why? What do you need there? Perhaps I could get it for you," suggested Harry. He poured himself a second cup of tea and added milk and three generous spoons of sugar, ignoring Snape's grimace.

"I require new robes. Not something that you can do for me, Harry."

"Probably not, no. But what do you need new robes for? Those you have seem plenty good enough for me," Harry said. "It isn't as though we go out to the opera, or fancy restaurants, or anything."

"Hogwarts expects a certain level of respectability," said Snape. "My present attire is becoming threadbare, and unlike certain former professors, I still have sufficient gold in Gringotts to purchase replacements when necessary."

Harry scowled at the tacit criticism of Lupin, but let it pass. Far more important was the fact that Severus had just implicitly stated that he was going to accept Headmistress McGonagall's invitation to return to Hogwarts.

"I thought you didn't like teaching," he said bluntly.

Snape shrugged. "It is employment, in a relatively congenial environment. I cannot hide here in the old Black house forever." He fiddled with the crust of his toast and would not meet Harry's eyes.

"So you're leaving me?" Harry swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. Not that he'd thought things would last forever between himself and Snape... but it had only been a few weeks. Had he done something to make Snape's feelings change? Had he pushed too hard? "What if I promise not to pester you about wanting to sleep alone?"

"It has nothing to do with that," Snape dismissed the question. "I cannot live on your charity, Harry. Sooner or later I will need to work again, and Minerva's offer is a good one. I can teach Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"The first person to do so for more than a single year since before my parents were in school." Harry swallowed again. "I... congratulations, I suppose, Severus. I suppose you can't miss this opportunity."

"You could come back with me and finish out your seventh year." Now Snape looked at him.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Back to school, after everything that's happened? Be there with you as my professor again, after what we've been to each other... what I _thought_ we've been, anyhow? I don't think I could stand that."

"You have endured greater trials," said Snape, his voice soft.

"Only because I had no choice." Harry swept his hand sideways in a gesture of negation, and knocked over his teacup. Tea washed across the table, staining the cloth. "Fuck. Kreacher!"

The house-elf appeared and quickly cleaned up the spill as Harry apologized, then vanished with a pop. The accident had made Harry pause to consider, however.

"I just think it would be incredibly hard to go back and be a student again now, and having you around, but without being able to be together the way we are now... it would be horrible."

"It will only be more difficult to go back later on, and you might well regret not finishing. There are jobs you can get with only O.W.L. exams, but they're not the sort of thing _you_ would enjoy for very long. I seem to recall Minerva mentioning once that you wanted to become an Auror, and believe me, that will not be possible if you don't sit your N.E.W.T.s," said Snape.

Stubbornly Harry shook his head. "If they won't make an exception in my case, I'll find something else to do with myself. I could look into professional Quidditch, maybe."

"Harry... I understand that you're angry with me for making the decision to return to Hogwarts to teach, but don't let that push you into refusing to do so yourself." Snape sighed. "I knew you would feel this way."

"But it matters more that you do what _you_ want."

Snape's patience visibly snapped. "Not just what _I_ want, Harry. What would be best for _both_ of us. If you refuse to return to school, that is your decision. You're of age and no one can compel you to go. In that case, though, it is also best that you and I part now, before... well. No matter."

"Before what?" Harry demanded.

"I have said over and over again that I am too old for you," said Snape, "and I daresay this proves it."

"You're saying I'm being childish?"

"Aren't you?"

Harry glared at him. "Do _you_ want to be sitting in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, seeing me, thinking of going to bed together and knowing that we can't, for a whole year?"

"Ten months or so," Snape corrected, "and no, I _don't_ especially want that, but I can live with it if it means that you'll be able to pursue your dream of being an Auror." His hand trembled, only slightly but Harry saw it, as he reached for his teacup and raised it to his lips. "There are always compromises in life... but throwing away a dream needlessly is not one I will permit you to make, not if there is any way I can prevent it."

"Oh," said Harry in a small voice. "I didn't understand."

"It might not be quite as bad as you think, Harry. You'll be busy with all your classes, as I will be with mine. I believe that both Miss Granger and Mister Weasley are strongly considering returning. I would be surprised if Miss Granger decided otherwise, and if you are there, I should think they both will return as well. You won't be the only one beyond your year. I am certain Minerva will find some way to accommodate you in the dormitory."

"It'll still be rotten to see you, but not _see_ you," Harry muttered, but Snape was beginning to persuade him.

"As to that... given that Minerva is already aware of our relationship, I might be able to convince her that we should be permitted to spend a night together each week, as long as we are extremely discreet. I could not, of course, be your professor for Defence, but that would be true in any event. If I provide her with my lesson plans, she can instruct you individually as much as necessary, and you can practise with the other students in the class," said Snape.

"Once a week?" Harry focussed on what was most important to him just now.

"I hope that often." Snape's mouth quirked. "You can tell your friends you have detention, as long as you return to the Gryffindor tower before they wake the next morning."

"Hermione will figure it out, but I'll convince her to keep quiet about it, her and Ron both," said Harry absently. "Yeah. This might work out after all."

"Good," said Snape quietly. Under his breath, so that Harry guessed he was not supposed to hear, he added, "I promised I'd look after you and yours, Lily. See? I do keep my word."


End file.
